A Weary Soldier
by ajattra
Summary: AU. Echo and Alpha meet for the first time in ten years. Is madness still mad in a mad world? Echo/Alpha. One-Shot.


**Challenge:** Write about apocolypses, finals, ships that are doomed, as long as its got and "end of the world" feel (even if they overcome the apocolypse), you can write it. Any rating, any length. **whedonland**

**Title:** A Weary Soldier  
**Ship:** Alpha/Echo,  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** dark themes  
**Word Count:** 750

**Summary:** AU. Echo and Alpha meet for the first time in ten years. Is madness still mad in a mad world? One-Shot. Written before seeing Epitaph Two (thus was inspired by speculation).

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**A Weary Soldier**

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"I remade this world for you," he says softly, observing closely as doubt stains her face and shock and confusion slowly draw her expressions anew.

She can't believe it - won't. He's made her suffer unlike anyone else, and everyone in her head knows it. Someone remembers a hunt, another a siren's song that immobilized her and the third remembers seeing Caroline lie on the ground dead while he impishly threatened her. When he came back to destroy her love for Paul, she wished she'd never see him again.

Their "love superior" – as he calls it – was never meant to be, and honestly she'd thought he'd forsaken the notion as well. Now as the numb spreads through her body and she remembers Paul's cold expression since that day, her pity for him slowly turns into rage.

He's waiting for her response, a flicker of that lovely spirit she shows only when she grows angry. Yet inside he's not the same man as before, for her also fears that this knowledge might shatter her instead of making her stronger.

"**You**," she begins, only to find herself unable to finish the thought, or the sentence. There's hatred in that word she utters, the only emotion she allows herself to feel for him.

"This would be our paradise, but somehow the ape-man endures, even while driven insane!" His voice sounds almost joyous when he finishes and a smile spreads on his lips. He inhales deeply and surveys their surroundings, this quiet pocket of nature that has forgotten all about the tech. He looks satisfied, twisted and delves deep in his enjoyment, yet it soon dies and he looks at her almost seriously.

"I've watched you suffer alone. Why is it that you can only talk to yourself?" His voice trembles as he asks her this, bringing to light his intimate knowledge of her every breath, every private moment of solace. But she was never truly alone, was she? No. Echo feels a surge of emotions and swallows to keep the pain her throat bearable.

Alpha smiles kindly this time and moves closer to her. The years haven't hindered his appearance or taken away from his attractiveness at all; he's still as gorgeous and frightening as when she first saw him. She stands still, prepared for anything, but instead of attacking he brushes his hand over her cheek, wiping away a single tear she didn't even realize shedding.

"How could you?" She asks with an empty voice and soul. She has so many voices telling her what to do, how to turn him down and hurt him in the only way she ever could, but none of these voices are her own.

"Hush now." His kind voice is so soothing, almost familiar in its flow. She's a tired, worn thing, not a person anymore. To have someone behave like she's not the strongest woman alive somehow calms her – Like she too can rely on someone.

He seems to read her mind, his predatory expression tells her as much. They're closer to each other than when he first appeared in view – he's slowly made his way next to her, slithering like a snake. She grips the pencil in her pocket tighter and thinks of ending everything with one strong blow.

"Think about our paradise, Echo. Wouldn't you want to rest?" He lures her, her waking mind responds to his promises.

Even though it's been ten years, the tension between them is as strong as ever: two heavenly creatures meant for love supreme. It's a comforting lie, when one has seen as much discord and death as she has. Her feelings for Paul have died such a long time ago; it feels like she's been without feeling forever.

The wind brushes his blonde hair across his face and tempting her curls to depart with it as well. Ten years ago these thoughts would've been lunacy and the pencil in her hand would've met with his face already, but in this mad world she doesn't want to kill anymore. Even her anger has died already, leaving nothing behind but a strange silence. They all wait for her to respond, one voice even encourages her to reach out to him.

But why is he different? Why doesn't he twist her insides to a knot, why doesn't any of this feel wrong? That glint of lunacy in his eyes seems to have faded, but what he has replaced it with, she doesn't know.

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

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~ FIN


End file.
